“I’m a believer in things symbolic,” he said. “Spending eternity next to Marilyn is too sweet to pass up.”
Many admirers of the late celebrity gathered
to pay respect to a sexual icon, a man
of such prestige and prowess to shame
Zeus. Ravenous.
A few flecks of white blemish the pure
blue sky, but there is no threat of
rain – he would not want any of the funeral guests
to weep for him, and so the sky complies.
Today, Hefner merges in eternity alongside
the blonde that never became a rabbit. The Helen
about whom thousands of magazines were printed.
Her face is the muse of many, her body
the model of countless fantasy. Her mind a broken
cog in the otherwise ideal product.
Her voice a painting of the Madonna.
Her soul the lord of the abyss
he did not foresee.
They join together in their stone wedding
bed, pomegranate seeds strewn
across the sheets that drove her
into the depths of damnation. Seeds fed to her
in life by her new bedmate and leagues of others.
Poison hidden behind sweet devotion. She swallowed
them whole, naked. Just how they wanted her.
Just how he liked her. Silent.
She complied because she had no voice.
In the kingdom of the dead,
Marilyn speaks.
And as Hugh enters Hades, he does not
enjoy Persephone’s fate.
She makes sure of it…
Rather, that is what I tell myself.